You're Safe
by Mourningdawns
Summary: <html><head></head>He was falling to pieces and he didn't know how to stop. Somewhat of a companion to 'I promise', but not so much that you need to read that one first. Peter Neal friendship.</html>


A/N. This is kind of a companion to 'I Promise'. You don't really need to read that piece though. Also, has anyone else noticed that I post more as finals get closer and closer? Oops.

"You signed yourself out against medical advice?" Neal closed his eyes as Peter stood in front of the couch, hands on his hips. "Why would you do that?"

"I wanted to leave. You said I couldn't sneak out. So, I didn't sneak." Neal was exhausted.

"You know what I meant! You locked up in a basement for days, you need medical attention!" Neal rolled onto his back and placed his bandaged hands on his chest.

"I'm not dehydrated anymore, I've had lunch and my hands are…manageable. They're wrapped, anyway. There's nothing else for the hospital to do." His voice was weary. Peter's anger lessoned as he took in Neal's pale complexion, the sheen of sweat on his face.

"You've still got a fever…" He mumbled, pressing his hand to his forehead. Neal nodded. "Why didn't you call me? I could've at least taken you. How'd you get home?"

"Moz." Neal gave a small smile and Peter instantly knew he _did not_ want to know the details.

"Never mind that. Where's your medicine?" Neal nodded towards the kitchen.

"Counter." He looked away. "Could you…open it? I can't…my hands…" Peter nodded, the last of his anger dissipating as Neal looked at his hands when he thought the older man wasn't looking. He was so vulnerable.

"Yeah, yeah of course." He grabbed the medicine and handed his friend the correct dosage. Neal swallowed the pills with a grimace. "How're you doing?" Neal shrugged.

"Sore, mostly. And tired." Peter frowned.

"You know what I mean." Neal looked down at his bandaged hands again and Peter's mind's eye was forced back to the dank basement they'd found him in. He remembered the way Neal had cried, tears of sickness and pain, a pain that ran deeper than any physical pain could.

Looking at Neal now, he knew he was suffering.

"I'll be here if you need me." Peter moved from the arm of the couch to sitting next to Neal.

"I'm just gonna sleep. You don't need to stay." Neal stood slowly.

"No, it's fine. I'll just be right here. I have some paperwork to do anyway." He waved his hand at his briefcase.

"You might as well leave." Peter looked at Neal.

"I think I'll stay. Right here." Neal nodded, clearly defeated. Any other day his stubbornness would have been a match for the older man's but today he just wasn't up to it. Peter watched as Neal made his way to the bed and collapsed.

Hours passed before Neal suffered from the nightmares Peter had predicted. Peter was having them himself about that basement; he would have been surprised if Neal hadn't. The whimpers started quietly and it took Peter a minute to figure out what was going on. When he did, he dropped everything and hurried to Neal's side.

"Neal! Neal, wake up, it's just a dream, Neal. Wake up." He shook the younger man's arms, mindful of his damaged hands, until blue eyes flew open. Neal pulled away from Peter and rushed to the bathroom, dropping in front of the toilet as he was sick.

Peter rubbed his back and handed him a cup of water when he was done.

"Let's get you back to bed." He guided Neal back to the bed. "You want to talk?" Neal shook his head, pressing his eyes closed tight. He couldn't lose it in front of Peter. "Is this why you left early? So no one found out about the nightmares?"

"It was a factor." Neal admitted. Peter sighed and toed his dress shoes off before lying on the bed next to Neal.

"Neal, I have nightmares about it too. It's perfectly normal." Neal rolled over to face Peter.

"You do? About what?"

"About what I saw. You have no idea how worried we were about you." Neal nodded.

"I barely remember you being there."

"That's fine. You're fever was pretty high at that point. You started hallucinating when the paramedics took you out. And yet I still couldn't get anything from you about past crimes." Neal pretended to look hurt.

"You would take advantage of my deluded state like that?" Peter smiled and shook his head.

"We were just trying to keep you talking. They wanted you to be awake when we got to the hospital." Neal nodded and they lay in silence for a while before he spoke.

"Peter?" Peter looked up. "I…I'm…" He took a deep breath and Peter hoped he was going to open up. But instead- "Peter, I'm fine. If you want to go, you can." He knew that was Neal's too-polite way of telling him to leave.

"Fine. But I'm coming back after dinner to make sure you're alright."

"I'm sure I'll be fine." When Neal finally heard the door close and Peter's steps retreating down the stairs, he let the walls come down. Burying his face in his pillow, he cried.

He fell asleep, only to be woken by his nightmares, repeating over and over every horrifying detail he remembered. Getting pulled into the van, being shoved in the basement. Watching as everything he defined himself by was destroyed with a dirty knife.

When Peter came back to check on him, Neal answered the door, eyes red and his lips pressed tightly together.

"Are you alright?"

"Peachy keen, Peter." Neal went to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine.

"You shouldn't have that." Neal ignored him. "I'm serious. It'll make you sick if you're on antibiotics." Neal shrugged.

"Don't care."

"Neal." Peter warned. Neal sighed and set the bottle down.

"Fine." His voice was hoarse. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to collect himself. He couldn't be such a mess in front of Peter. He didn't want the older man to worry.

"Do you wanna talk?" Peter moved closer, a hand squeezing Neal's shoulder. The consultant pulled away.

"I'm fine. Just about to go to bed." He turned his back towards Peter as he got a glass of water. His rubbed at his eyes, wishing they would stop watering. He couldn't cry in front of Peter.

"Do you need to take your medicine again?" Neal nodded. "Alright. Here ya go." He set the pills down on the counter. Neal took them quickly, washing them down with water.

"Thanks. I'm g-going to bed now." He walked away from the agent quickly.

"Call me if you need anything." Peter yelled after him. He wished Neal wasn't so bull-headed sometimes. He was obviously upset. There was no reason to try to keep it from Peter. He waited until he heard Neal mutter something that sounded like an affirmative reply before he left.

Neal collapsed on the bed, shaking. His hands hurt. They really, really hurt. He swallowed hard, letting tears fall into his pillow. He couldn't believe how much his hands hurt. They felt like they were on fire. When he'd fallen into bed, he'd hit them. Not hard, but enough. It hurt. Oh god, did it hurt.

His mind flashed back to the basement, when Peter had been holding him. He could feel the damp air in his lungs, smell the scent of mildew and dirt, the stink of stale air. Sitting up, he gasped for air, trying to remind himself that his apartment was clean, it was nice. No one would hurt him here.

But his body was hard to convince. He couldn't shake the feeling, the panic welling in his chest as he drew a deep breath and he would have sworn it was the same air that had been in the basement. His chest tightened and his hands stung sharply. When had the room gotten so dark? Had he fallen asleep? He ran to turn on the light, crying softly as his hand hit the light switch but it was already on. He hadn't turned off the light and he hadn't gone to bed.

He was falling to pieces and he didn't know how to stop.

He was hyperventilating, darkness surrounding the edges of his vision. The walls were closing in, he thought, as his body fell to the floor, calmness finally spreading over him as he passed out.

When he woke up, it was nearly three in the morning. The lights were still on and he was still on the floor. He rolled onto his back and held his hands to his chest, tears falling. What was he supposed to do without his hands? What could he do? All his life, he'd survived based on what he could do with them, what he could make. Now he had none of that. Rationally, he knew his life was different then it had been back then but his instincts were deeply ingrained.

He felt the familiar panic building in his chest and he scrambled to the bedside table, finding his phone. He managed to hit the speed-dial button after a couple attempts, fingertips searing in sharp agony as he listened to the phone ring.

It rang 2 and a half times before it was answered.

"This is Burke." Peter grumbled, sleepily. He hadn't even bothered to check the caller ID.

"P-Peter…I need…Can y-you? Pl-please? Help." His voice was broken and his breathing picking up again. He heard Peter start moving and he heard El's voice in the background.

"I'll be right there, Neal. It'll be ok, I promise. Just hold on a few minutes." Neal crawled into bed, holding the phone even after the call had been disconnected. He wasn't aware of the passage of time until he felt arms wrap around him and someone pulled him up.

"Neal? Neal, talk to me. Neal, what's going on?" Neal shook his head and pressed himself close to Peter.

"I c-can't. My hands…Peter, w-what am I s-supposed t-to do?" Peter laid back against the pillows and held Neal tightly.

"Calm down. Just calm down and we'll figure everything out. Breathe with me, Neal." He rubbed Neal's back soothingly.

Minutes dragged by before Neal's ragged breathing had become normal again. Peter looked down met eyes with Neal, scared blue ones meeting with reassuring brown.

"You're gonna be fine, Neal. I've got you, you're safe."


End file.
